


Spar

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Challenge Response, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-13
Updated: 2007-09-13
Packaged: 2019-02-05 18:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Ronon helps Lorne train and they learn a little more about each other.  Written for slashing_lorne/prompt: write a drabble/ficlet where Lorne or his lover teaches the other one something new.





	Spar

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Lorne stepped sideways as Ronon rushed him, trying to dodge the 6'4" body blow. He wasn't quick enough and Ronon barreled into him like a freight train - a solid, 220-pound plus freight train. Off balance, Lorne stumbled, barely keeping his feet under him and putting out a hand to keep from face-planting into the not entirely soft training mat. Ronon took advantage of Lorne's overreached position and clipped Lorne's weight-bearing leg from beneath the Major, leaving Lorne to land heavily on his back. Lorne grimaced as the air rushed out of his lungs and the pain of the fall connected along the nerve pathways from his spine to his brain.

 

Lorne glanced up at Ronon, half expecting to see him dancing on the balls of his feet like a Satedan Muhammad Ali. Ronon was simply standing in place, slouching nonchalantly as he waited for Lorne to get up. 

 

The bastard wasn't even breathing hard.

 

Lorne had asked Ronon if he’d like to spar in the hope of picking up a few pointers. It wasn’t that he felt he was a slouch in the fighting department, but who couldn’t learn something about brawling from Ronon not to mention it was somehow easier to take a beating from the resident alien than from the other military types on the expedition. Lorne wasn’t the biggest guy in the group and it didn’t hurt to save a little face here and there.

 

He jerked his body weight to the right, rolling himself neatly into a standing position and wondering if that was a smirk of admiration for the maneuver from Ronon. It was more than likely just gas, Lorne thought; the chow hall would do that to you. When Ronon rushed him again, Lorne tried ducking beneath the move and wound up flipped over Ronon's shoulder when he wrapped his arms around Lorne's waist and hauled upwards. Ronon was tall and it was a damned long way to the floor.

 

Lorne hit heavily again and took a little longer to bounce back up. He even allowed himself a moment of pleasure at the definite flicker of almost amusement on Ronon's face. It was as close to an emotion as Lorne'd ever seen the guy have. He shook himself off and braced for the next rush. Ronon didn't make him wait long.

 

In the minute flash Lorne had to think about the attack, he realized Ronon was too solid to hope he could simply absorb the blow. His center of gravity was lower than Ronon’s, and Lorne tried to find a way to use that to his advantage. 

 

But not this time.

 

Ronon plowed through him and Lorne hit the practice mat again, three for three. He was breathing hard as he pulled himself to his feet more slowly.

 

“Need a break, Major?” Ronon offered.

 

“What? And break-up the lucky streak I’m on?”

 

Ronon looked at him blankly, leaving no way to tell if he had gotten Lorne’s sarcasm or not. Then he nodded, beginning to circle Lorne again. When he rushed this time, Lorne waited, took a step back to throw off Ronon’s timing and ducked low, slamming into Ronon’s legs. Ronon lost his footing and tumbled over Lorne, back on his feet before Lorne had rolled to a stop against the far wall.

 

Ronon walked over and helped Lorne to his feet.

 

“Nice,” Ronon smiled, a brief but real expression.

 

“I get lucky sometimes.”

 

Lorne took a step, gingerly putting weight on his left knee, feeling it out after that last fall.

 

“You okay?”

 

Nothing got by Ronon.

 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Lorne dismissed. The knee was tender but usable. 

 

Ronon looked unconvinced. “Maybe you should have the Doc check you out,” he suggested.

 

Lorne actually agreed with him, but he’d be hanged before he’d admit it. Unfortunately his little victory had to put an end to the sparring match. Lorne couldn’t afford to be macho and take a chance on injuring himself further and hauling a seriously busted knee into his next run-in with the Wraith. 

 

“I’ll just go take it easy for the rest of the day and see how it feels.”

 

Ronon watched him a second, shrugged and clapped a large hand on Lorne’s shoulder, pushing him down onto the low bench under the painted glass window. Lorne sat heavily and resigned himself to Ronon’s scrutiny. 

 

Pushing Lorne’s sweats past his knee, Ronon prodded the rapidly swelling joint with careful fingers. After a moment, he sat back.

 

“See the Doc,” he said simply, standing and offering his hand.

 

Lorne got the impression he’d be carried off to the infirmary if he didn’t go willingly so willingly he went, acutely aware of Ronon’s adjusted pace on the way.

 

 

 

The next morning Lorne’s three-man team armed up and waited at the Gate while Lorne negotiated the stairs to the conference room and the pre-mission briefing. Ronon ducked in just as the doors were closing and sat through the meeting. 

 

It was a recon mission, some interesting ruins on an outer planet Rodney had just located the address for in the Ancient database. Radek was assigned as the scientist along for the ride. When Weir dismissed them with wishes of good luck and good hunting, Ronon followed Lorne in his casual, incurious manner as the Major headed down the stairs.

 

“I take it you’re coming along?” Lorne asked, taking the stairs a little more carefully than his usual two at a time.

 

“Been there before, I can show you around,” Ronon explained, pulling his gun to sight down the barrel before holstering it again.

 

“And the real reason you’re going?” Lorne pressed without missing a beat.

 

Ronon shrugged. “I broke you,” he said, as if that explained everything.

 

Lorne stopped halfway down the staircase, watching Ronon continue onto the flat open 

deck on the Gate Room, honestly unsure if Ronon was serious or not.

 

 

 

 

“Seen one, seen ‘em all,” Lorne responded when Radek excitedly held a flashlight to what could have passed for hieroglyphics in another galaxy. 

 

He said so and Radek concurred.

 

“Actually that is a very accurate description, more accurate than perhaps you intended,” Radek explained. “The system of pictorial writing that we know as hieroglyphics and heratics evolved from a same common language, quite possible the Ancient we are reading right now!”

 

“Maybe you’re reading it,” Lorne corrected, “it’s all Greek to me.”

 

He moved away as Radek began expounding on how it wasn’t really like Greek at all, but closer possibly to heiratics…

 

Ronon sat casually on a broken bit of building a few feet away. Lorne walked closer to him, careful not to let on how bad his knee was aching.

 

“You didn’t get any of that either, huh?” Ronon asked, biting off half a power bar in a single bite.

 

“Not so much. It’s all Greek to...” he trailed off, realizing Ronon wouldn’t get the reference. “Looks like we’re gonna bed down for the night,” he said.

 

“I’ll get a fire going,” Ronon offered simply, moving to do just that.

 

“Thanks. We’re bunking in,” he called out loudly to the entire group. “Kaufman, you take first watch.”

 

“Aye, aye, Major,” Kaufman answered up. 

 

The Marine took up a position on the second floor of a surviving structure and settled in without discussion, something Ronon took note of. Lorne ran his team tight, far more so than Sheppard did but seemingly with far less effort. 

 

By the time sufficient wood for the night had been gathered, ground cleared and bedding broken out, Lorne was somewhere past suffering and well on his way to agony. The hike to the ruins had been bad enough and it hadn’t helped that he’d slipped while fetching firewood. Now he made his way outside of the firelight and around the back of a building that might have been temple at some point in its life. He popped a couple of 800 milligram, military cure-all Motrin pills and settled back against the still warm stones. 

 

It didn’t take Ronon long to find him. 

 

“Major,” he said.

 

“You know, about the tenth time you kicked my ass yesterday, I think you probably earned the right to call me Lorne. Hell, call me Evan.”

 

“Evan?”

 

“That’s the one Mom gave me.”

 

“Evan,” Ronon tried again, as if deciding if he were gonna use it.

 

And in typical stoical Ronon fashion, Lorne couldn’t tell if he was or not.

 

“How’s the knee?”

 

“A little worse for the wear,” he admitted.

 

Ronon knelt down in front of Lorne, probing at the swelling joint, his fingers firm but not painful. He moved lower, massaging Lorne’s calf muscle, fatigued and knotted from favouring his knee most of the day. They pushed and stroked the muscles, working out the soreness and pain. Lorne let his head fall back to the stone wall, his eyes drifting closed. 

 

“I didn’t know you were such a good medic,” he said.

 

“Had to be,” Ronon replied. “After I became a Runner, there wasn’t anybody else.”

 

Lorne opened his eyes. 

 

“Things are different now. You’re one of us. You’ve got friends.”

 

“I know. Sit down.”

 

Lorne did as he said, closing his eyes again and enjoying the ministrations of Ronon’s fingers. The repetitive motion felt so good, the long fingers moving up again, past Lorne’s knee, kneading the long lines of his thigh, strong and delicious and…

 

Lorne held his breath. He could have imagined the brush of Ronon’s knuckles against his crotch. He waited, not moving, not saying anything. Ronon’s fingers crept up again, slowly.

 

And it wasn’t his imagination anymore.

 

Ronon’s fingers were definitely brushing against his crotch.

 

It was a questioning sort of touch, if Lorne wasn’t interested he could simply ignore it and he was certain Ronon would have backed off and never repeated the offer. But he was interested. 

 

Very interested.

 

In fact, parts of him were beyond interested - they were actively involved. Lorne opened his eyes and wasn’t surprised to find Ronon watching him with an intense and open gaze. He nodded and Ronon helped him to his feet, pulling him into the darker recesses of the crumbling building, pressing him into the wall just inside the doorway. 

 

Ronon unbuttoned Lorne’s BDU’s and pushed his own laced pants out of the way, taking both of their cocks in his large hand and jacking them together, his hand sliding slickly against their skin until Lorne thought he’d scream with the pleasure. His balls tightened and he leaned his head back against the wall, riding out the orgasm, belatedly registering that his knee was throbbing painfully and wondering how in the hell they were gonna clean up the mess, neither of which seemed all that important for the moment. 

 

“Not much with the foreplay, are you?” he teased.

 

Ronon grinned. “What do you call the last two days?”


End file.
